


something new to fall into

by fromiftowhen



Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Future Fic, Mutual Pining, Post Episode: 2x12 Now and Then, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/pseuds/fromiftowhen
Summary: “Were you watching me sleep?”He doesn’t immediately answer. It’s Tim foryes.She’d fallen asleep holding his hand and woken up with him again and it isn’t the morning after the worst day of her life anymore. It feels like what she’s been waiting for. It feels like permission.OR - Tim and Lucy (really convincingly) fake date, fall for each other, and attend a wedding. Maybe not in thatexactorder.
Relationships: Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Comments: 44
Kudos: 422





	something new to fall into

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended to be about 2K of basically just sex. It is decidedly not that, as sad as that makes me.
> 
> This is essentially in the same universe as [a great honor to hold you up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22935091). It takes place about four months in the future and you'd probably get more out of it if you've read that first.
> 
> Spoilers through 2x12: Now and Then. Title from There Will Be Another by Bronze Radio Return, which also played in the episode.
> 
> Thanks to K and T for the read-throughs and encouragement! 
> 
> I'm @boyfriendsandbusinesspartners on Tumblr. Let's be friends!

Lucy paces back and forth in the locker room, gathering her courage. Somehow, her nerves are more shot than they were her first day as a rookie or her first day back after… well. After. 

Shift had been long and relatively mundane, but absolutely torturous with this hanging over her head. She’d known not to ask while they were in an enclosed space or a moving vehicle together. But now that the time is here, she’s pretty sure she wants to just forget about it and go home, consequences be damned. 

She’s in her street clothes, her hair is down, she feels good about herself. Confident. Badass. Maybe a little nauseous?

She rolls her eyes at herself in the mirror. It’s not like he’s going to laugh in her face. 

——————————

He’s _absolutely_ going to laugh in her face. She realizes it as soon as the words are out of her mouth. 

He’s in the middle of a round with the heavy bag when she finds him. He’s sweaty and energized and of course, because life just keeps throwing things at her, he’s shirtless. It’s rude, honestly. 

“I’m sorry, Boot. My music was on and clearly I misheard you. Try again,” Tim says, in a tone that clearly means _do not try again._

She adjusts her bag a little more firmly on her shoulder, plants her feet, and gives him her most convincing smile. 

“So,” she begins, and to his credit he’s giving her about 75% of his attention, which is better than she bargained for. “My college roommate is getting married. This weekend. Saturday, in fact—“ 

“I feel like she’ll be married by the time you finish this,” he mutters, and she’d normally not hesitate to roll her eyes at him, but she needs to resist her natural urges. _All of them,_ she thinks, letting her eyes momentarily track down his bare chest. 

“And I have a plus one. I was going to take Jackson, but there’s this whole thing with his dad, and now he has to go out of town for the weekend, so then I thought I’d take Nolan, because I’ve never met anyone who loves weddings more, but Henry and Abigail are visiting, so.” 

He raises his eyebrows at her in a clear gesture for her to continue, and she pauses. She kind of thought he’d just shut her down immediately. 

“And so, I was thinking. Wondering. if you’d be willing to go with me?” 

“You must be joking,” he says, and there it is. 

She nods. She had prepared for that. There was no scenario she’d played through in which he immediately agreed. There were very few in which he’d agreed at all, honestly. 

“The thing is,” she starts, but he holds up a wrapped hand. 

“The thing is, Boot, weddings are simply a corporate money maker these days, and if you want to tell someone you love them and you plan to forever—“ 

He pauses for a moment, looking down, seemingly to adjust his wrap. He swings a pitch perfect right hook at the bag before looking back up at her. “Well, if you want to do that, that’s fine. But you shouldn’t need an audience full of potential DUIs and bad food to do it.” 

She opens her mouth to respond, but then stops. 

“I- I’m sorry. My natural inclination is to argue with you, so I had to gather my thoughts. While I actually don’t entirely disagree, there’s something else to consider.”

He waves his hand at her in a universal _go on_ gesture that she’s sure he really wishes would convey _go away._

“I’m in the bridal party.”

She can almost hear his groan before it happens, but she doesn’t have time for his views on the antiquated tradition of bridal attendants or whatever. 

“I’m in the bridal party and I have a plus one and as a bridesmaid, you either bring a date or you get hit on by any number of single men all night. It’s some unwritten code.”

He gives her an exasperated look. “Not all men take—“

“Please, god, don’t finish that sentence.”

He smirks at her, and it’s then that she remembers. She’s trying to ask him for a favor. 

“Anyway. I don’t want to get hit on all night. And yes, I know, that sounds conceited, but. I’m just...”

“Naturally beautiful and people feel drawn to you no matter the circumstance, no matter if they should or not? Is that how you were going to finish that sentence, Boot?” 

She pauses and opens her mouth a couple times. He’s clearly given up on her letting him fully finish his workout, because he’s sitting on the weight bench unwrapping his hands. He glances up at her and she snaps out of it. 

“No, uh. Of course it wasn’t. I was going to say… I’m just. I’m not really ready? For strange men to hit on me. I know it’s been awhile since… well, before. But, Anna — the bride? — she’s been a friend for a long time and she knows just the basics of what happened four months ago and I don’t want to spend the night worrying about strange men or worrying that she’s worrying about me worrying about strange men.”

She takes a deep breath. It’s still hard to directly reference what happened, mostly because she doesn’t know exactly how to refer to it? _The day I basically died but you saved me and now our professional relationship is okay, but whatever personal one we have is… confusing at best_ is too wordy, _the incident_ has too much intrigue, and she refuses to use his name when she isn’t directly required to. 

“But the point is. I don’t want any of that and I’m fairly sure bringing someone will help. And you said if I needed anything to let you know.”

He sighs. She’s pretty sure she’s screwed. 

“You should have just led with the part about strange men,” he says, tossing his used wraps aside. “That’s going to get you some mileage for a while. Just, tell me it’s not like, tux and tails or for god’s sake, themed in any way.” 

“The theme is _love_ , Tim, it’s a wedding,” she huffs. 

He fixes her with his perfected _good lord how are you still talking_ glare, and her face lights up. 

“Wait! That’s you, saying yes!” 

If possible, his glare intensifies. 

“I don’t have to chip in on the gift, do I?” He asks, and god, every part of her wants to say yes just to rile him up further. If you ask him, he’s a pain in her ass because he’s paid to be and _it’ll make you a good cop, Boot_ or whatever, but in her opinion, he would do it gladly for free.

“Do you really think Jackson or Nolan would have?” She counters, crossing her arms. This was almost too easy, but it’s not over yet. 

“Nolan would have absolutely constructed them a one of a kind gift made out of the wood of the first tree they were sitting under when they kissed or something equally horrifying,” he says, wiping down the bench and grabbing his stuff. 

He’s… he’s not wrong, but she won’t dignify that with a response. 

He turns and starts walking toward the door, pulling a tank top on as he goes, and she takes the fleeting opportunity to watch the way the muscles in his back move, taut and sculpted and truly, really, rude. 

“There’s… there’s one more thing,” she says, gathering her courage again. This’ll be easier if he’s not looking at her. 

He stops, but he doesn’t turn around. 

“Anna thinks I have a boyfriend. I don’t know why. I mean. _I do,_ I told her I was bringing someone and we haven’t had time to talk a lot recently, so she assumed and I didn’t correct her, so, it’s valid...”

She’s watched his shoulders creep higher up toward his ears with every word she uttered. _Well, crap._

He turns around and she isn’t expecting the smirk that’s on his face. 

“So, you’re telling me. I agreed to go to this wedding with you. Which is torture enough—“

“I swear to god, if you compare _pretending to be my boyfriend_ to an act of torture, I will take you out at the knees.”

He turns and then glances over his shoulder at her as he heads through the door. He takes a quick left towards the men’s locker room and she hurries to keep up, lowering her voice.

“It’s just like, being mildly friendly in public, Tim. Pull my chair out. Don’t let me trip over my dress. Try not to check out other women in an obvious manner. I’m not asking you to make out with me on the dance floor or something.”

He coughs, like he’s choking on air. Maybe she went a little too deep there. 

“While… most… of those things seem doable, isn’t there something you’re forgetting?”

She looks him up and down. Her brain short circuits at the way his shirt clings to his sweaty chest, but she’s fairly sure she’s not overlooking anything. She meets his eyes again, and his smirk is off the charts, like he’s got one over on her. 

“When you introduce me as Tim Bradford, won’t your friends immediately know I’m your TO, who you _clearly_ aren’t dating?”

“Oh, ha,” she laughs. “Yeah, trust me, that’s definitely not how I refer to you to my non-cop friends. They for sure don’t know your name.”

He rolls his eyes and walks right on into the men’s locker room. The door swings shut in her face and she sputters. 

A door - not even a legitimately closing door - has never stopped her before, but she glances around. She’s at work. Barring some national emergency, she’s not risking her job to follow him in there. 

“This seems really dramatic, just so we’re clear,” she says through the door, hoping her voice carries to him in the locker room.

She rolls her eyes at where she imagines he is in the room and pulls out her phone. She leans against the wall and scrolls through her socials she’s ignored during shift for a few minutes and then switches over to her messages when a text notification pops up. 

Jackson, already home for the day, is checking on her progres. _SO. did he say yes yet??_

She laughs. He’d felt legitimately bad and had offered Sterling in his place, but she knew that definitely wouldn’t fly. _Balked at the bf part, but I’ll keep you posted🤞_

The door swings open again and she jumps, dropping her phone. 

Tim bends down and picks it up before she can react. His hair is damp from a shower and she’s reminded that he does _everything_ quickly. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes linger just a second longer on her legs than they normally would.

She reaches for her phone, her fingers brushing his, but he pulls it out of her reach and holds up a hand. 

“I won’t hold your purse. And I’m not there to get you drinks all night. And I swear, if I have to participate in any group dances, you’re doing push-ups after every call for a month.”

“I’m not bringing a purse. My drink goes directly from the bartender’s hand to mine, and gets thrown out if someone so much as glances at it for too long, so no worries. And honestly, I’d probably rather do the pushups than slide to the left, slide to the right or criss-cross,” she says, and she’s full on grinning at him by the end. She figured he’d say yes eventually, but she definitely thought there’d be more arguing.

He gives her a blank look and she says, “you know, the cha cha slide?” She moves her body in a mini rendition, and when she looks up again he’s barely holding in a laugh. 

“Oh, I know it. I just didn’t think you’d actually demonstrate. So worth it.” He grins and hands her back her phone. “You park in your usual spot?”

She nods, and he gestures over his shoulder toward the exit. “C’mon. I’ll walk out with you.”

The parking garage is dark and to be honest, they’ve always given her the creeps, even in broad daylight. After December, she’d noticed that there was usually, conveniently, someone walking out at the same time she was. They didn’t always talk, and it was usually someone different. But it was nice having a friendly face. Slowly, the random coworkers faded away, and nine times out of ten, it was Tim walking out at the same time, never in a hurry. She knew it was anything but coincidence, but she didn’t dare mention she’d caught on.

They walk in silence for a minute. He’s fastening his watch and she’s digging in her bag for her keys. They reach her car as she digs them out and he watches her unlock the door. 

He puts a warm hand on her back in a goodbye and she tenses. 

“You okay?”

“Tim, there’s one more small thing.”

She can almost feel him sigh. He gestures toward his chest in the universal _just give it to me_ gesture, but she knows he really means _hurry up._

“You’ll need a change of clothes. And pajamas, assuming you wear those.”

“Boot, I swear.”

“This is like, the least troublesome of all the things,” she says, quickly. “It’s just sleeping in the same room as me. For two nights. It’s the only thing of all the things I asked that you’ve really already done. Easy.”

They don’t talk about how he’s not only slept in the same room as her, he’s slept in the same bed. He held her while she sobbed and until she fell asleep and they woke up wrapped around each other. But she won’t bring it up. 

He levels her with a stare and then shakes his head. He turns slightly away and clicks the lock for his truck. The lights flash a few rows down. 

Maybe easy was the wrong word. The nights he’d spent watching her sleep and holding her had been the beginning of healing from the worst trauma she’d ever experienced. They weren’t entirely happy memories, and she imagines the stress of it is still pretty vivid for him. She wonders if it’s one of those invisible scars he carries around, too. 

He turns back and Lucy expects him to back out. She’d totally get it. Except Tim Bradford has never met a challenge he wouldn’t face, especially where she’s concerned.

“Can we leave after shift tomorrow?” 

She nods. That had been the plan, regardless of who was going with her. Anna’s a little bummed she’s missing the rehearsal dinner, but Lucy promised she’d try to make it in time for a quick drink.

“I barely trust your car to get you home, let alone to support the weight of another person for however many miles away this joyous corporate gathering is. We can take my truck. Text me the details,” he says, as she opens her car door and slides in.

“Get home safe,” he says, turning and heading to his truck.

She nods, relatively speechless. She watches him walk away, the long stride of his legs carrying him a few cars away before he turns back. 

“And Lucy?” He rarely calls her Lucy, even now. Even after everything. She perks up. “That better be the last ‘one more thing.’”

She nods. 

Except, of course, it isn’t. 

—————————— 

There’s only one king sized bed, and that’s how Lucy knows the world is playing some sort of cruel, cruel joke on her. 

She walks into the room slightly ahead of Tim and turns quickly around to stop him. He stops short, and their bodies collide. She catches herself against his chest, and if she takes a second longer to compose herself, he doesn’t mention it. She _promised_ herself she’d control her physical reactions to his… everything, and she’ll be damned if she loses it now. 

“There’s maybe, apparently, one more thing I didn’t tell you. But to be fair, I didn’t know either,” she says quickly, hoping this weekend isn’t over before it really starts.

He just glares at her and side steps, coming fully into the room. 

“Ta-da,” she says, without a hint of fanfare. 

“Boot, did you forget to request a room with two beds?” 

“In my defense, I didn’t request anything. Anna’s future mother-in-law was responsible for booking rooms for everyone this weekend and probably assumed that my plus one would be sharing my bed. And the receptionist downstairs probably didn’t bother confirming because, well,” and she looks him up and down and gestures to encompass his body. 

He looks at her like she’s lost it. 

“You know. _Look at you._ What person in their right mind would stay in a hotel room with you and request a second bed?” She needs to stop talking. 

“Thanks, I think?” 

“I’m just saying, she probably thought we were a couple, about to have dirty hotel sex.” 

“Are you somehow _drunk?,”_ he asks, dropping their bags by the closet. 

“No, of course not. I’m sorry. I’m just kind of nervous?” She did this to herself, and she knows it. There’s no reason she needs to be torturing herself like this. She could be here alone, eating room service in her undies and watching bad television. It would be _amazing._

“Nothing to be nervous about,” he says, motioning for her to hand him her hanging items. He stashes his suit and her bags in the closet and then turns back to her. “It’s a big bed. I think we’ll survive. We can sleep over/under if you’re scared to sleep next to me,” he says, throwing her a wink. 

“Does _anything_ make you nervous?” She asks, and she knows it’s a dumb question. Contrary to what some may believe, he’s not a robot. He has emotions and can express them when he wants to. She should know better than most. But she can’t remember the last time, if ever, she saw him actually nervous.

He looks at her for a couple moments before responding, and she feels like that’s a response all in itself. 

“Of course,” he says. He’s unpacking his toiletries bag from his duffle as he says it, and she takes a peek inside while he’s at the bathroom counter. Rows of neatly rolled clothes and shoes with the soles turned up. Military precision. She shouldn’t be surprised. 

“It’s just like undercover work, honestly, Boot. Just a little make believe for a few days.”

“You hate undercover assignments,” she says. She sits on the bed and watches him move around the room. He’s so rarely still, even in the shop, that tracking his movements and actions is as second nature to her as listening to him talk. 

“No, I hate when undercover assignments are used as an excuse to escape your everyday life or when they become more important than your real life. Really good UC work is just playing a more open, intense version of yourself, even if it requires you to do things you might not typically do.” 

“So, in the more open, intense version of your life, you’re, what? Dating me?” She laughs. _Imagine._

He looks over his shoulder at her and holds her gaze. “In the more open, intense version of my life, I’m doing a lot of things.”

She swallows and she swears the air in the room gets thick. She’s trying to gauge his meaning and how she should respond when her phone buzzes. 

He’s still staring at her when she looks back up. He’s leaning against the dresser, bracing himself with his hands and just… waiting for her. He looks sinfully good and she hates that it distracts her. He looks objectively the same as he does 12 hours a day right next to her, this is no different. 

“That’s Anna. She and some friends are downstairs at the bar and they want us to come say hi and catch up,” she says, and the nerves are suddenly back. He might be able to treat this like a little undercover assignment, but in this small room with him just staring at her, she’s questioning every decision that brought them here. 

He nods, once. _Game on, pal,_ she thinks. 

“You don’t have to stay the whole time if you don’t want to. It’s been a long day, you can cut out whenever. Just, you know. _Boyfriendly._ ”

“Wait, we should probably clear something up first,” he says, and her heart races. It feels like a lot of things have happened between them in recent months that could use some clarification. “Just so we’re on the same page, you’re _not_ asking me to, I believe your term was “make out” with you in this bar, correct?” 

“Oh my _god,_ Tim,” she says, reaching behind her for one of the four throw pillows on the bed. She lobs one at him, and she’s aiming for his chest, but of course he catches it. 

“So that’s a no? Just want to play my part correctly,” he laughs, holding the pillow up to his face like a shield when she picks up another. 

She shakes her head at him. “You’re really something. Let me freshen up and we can head down?” She quickly digs through her bag for a new outfit. 

He nods, and turns to rummage in his duffel. 

“You don’t have to change, you look good,” she says, scooting by him to the bathroom. She shuts the bathroom door behind her and quickly tosses on a dress. It’s shorter than she’d normally wear, but casual and fun for a night out. She so rarely wears anything other than pants that she feels a little overdressed, but in a fun way. The short cap sleeves and skater flare show off her arms and legs, muscles that’s she’s devoted a lot of extra hours in the gym to these last few months. She feels strong, finally, nearly her new normal. 

“Just trying to make that good boyfriend impression,” he says as she opens the door. “And you don’t have to ‘freshen up’, you look…”

She glances down at the dress and then raises her eyebrows at him when he doesn’t continue. 

“Sorry. I’ve just never seen you in a dress before. It was a surprise,” he says. 

“Pleasant, I hope,” she says, as she switches out the plain stud earrings she wears to work for a gold drop pair. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. 

She glances up into the mirror to look at him and almost smears lipgloss across her cheek. He’s stripped off his grey henley and is slowly pulling on a dark button down. The fabric stretches over his biceps and he glances up at her as he works the buttons. 

She’s seen him shirtless probably more times than is appropriate for what essentially boils down to a teacher/student relationship, but _god._ It’s just so good, every time. 

“You good?” He smirks, catching her eye in the mirror as she starts her mascara. 

“Yes, sir,” she mimics. He pulls shoes from his bag and she watches as he goes from post-work casual to (fake) date-night handsome before her eyes. 

She pulls her hair loose from the bun she’d quickly twirled it into after her post-shift shower and when she glances up again, he’s leaning against the dresser, rolling up his shirt sleeves and watching her. 

“Hey, there’s one more thing,” she says, smirking at him when he immediately rolls his eyes. 

“You can’t call me ‘Chen’ or ‘Boot.’ But also, nothing gross.”

“What name could I possibly call you that’s gross?”

“Lover.” 

“That’s not actually accurate.”

God help her, she knows. 

“Sweetie.”

“That one’s _definitely_ not accurate.”

She rolls her eyes. “Babe.”

She’s combing out her waves as he comes to stand behind her. She’s wearing sandals, so he’s still able to tower over her in that brooding, smug way he favors. If she let herself acknowledge it was as sexy as she knows it rightfully is, she’d never make it through a shift. 

He leans in low though, his voice close to her ear. 

“That one is definitely accurate, but what if we just stick to Lucy and Tim?”

She’s not proud of the way she shivers at that, and If his thumb slowly trailing over the goosebumps on the back of her arm are any indication, he definitely notices. 

“We ready?” He asks. His voice is still low and close to her ear and she looks at their reflections together in the mirror. He looks gorgeous and she feels as confident as she looks. They look natural together, and it shouldn’t fill her with as many butterflies as it does. 

She grabs her purse and slips on the rest of her jewelry as he pockets a key card and holds the door open for her. 

She nods. They’re ready. 

—————————— 

Anna, her fiancé Michael, and the other two bridesmaids, Sarah and Nicole, are gathered at a table in the back of the hotel bar when they get downstairs. 

She introduces them all to Tim, _her boyfriend,_ and she watches him greet them all and shake Michael’s hand. She puts her hand on his back to move around him to hug Nicole. 

Tim pulls out a chair at the high top table for her as he sits down. She’d think he was just playing his part, but she knows the chivalrous part just comes naturally to him, at least where she’s concerned. 

She shakes her head though, and gestures behind her to the bar. “I’m gonna grab a drink. Beer?” 

“Please,” he says. “Here, let me—“ he reaches for his money clip, but comes up short. 

She smiles her brightest smile at him and holds up the clip, which she’s pretty good at picking without his notice, if she says so herself. 

He raises his eyebrows. She’s surprised him again. He probably thought she’d never attempt it again after the hell he’d put her through the last time. 

_Trouble,_ he mouths to her, and she grins as she turns and heads to the bar. 

She orders their beers and leans back against the bar to wait. She scans the room and finally settles back on their table. She loves watching Tim in a crowd. He’s ridiculously fun to look at, but it’s his energy that always gets her. He’s cocky and smug and somehow commands a room without having to do much more than stand there. Part of it, she knows, is the career cop in him. Most of it’s just Tim, though. 

He nods and responds to something Sarah asks and Lucy’s skin heats as she watches him scan the bar and stop on her. His smile widens — that full blown, heartbreaker of a grin that she doesn’t get to see nearly enough. 

He’s trouble. 

She thanks the bartender as he hands her the beers and heads back to the table. 

She hands Tim his beer and takes his offered hand to help her up onto the bar stool. She sets her beer down and turns to thank him when she realizes he hasn’t let her hand go. 

He’s looking at her jewelry. A small, dainty gold ring that had belonged to her grandmother that she wears most days, and the ring he’d so sweetly tossed back to her, along with it a little bit of hope, in the gym a few months back. 

He runs his thumb over the ring and she’s reminded of the way he’d turned it over in his hands before tossing it back to her. Like it mattered to him, too. 

He brings her hand up to his mouth and presses a quick kiss there before letting their joined hands fall to his knee. It’s so casual she could almost forget it’s not real. 

She takes a sip of her beer and smiles at her friends, all of whom are staring at them. 

“Luce, Tim told us you two met at work and now I’m really considering a job change? Do all the guys who work for the LAPD look like _this?_ I know you said the one who trains you is a smugass smokeshow, but…” 

Nicole’s words fade away as Lucy chokes on her beer. 

“Um,” she croaks, and she doesn’t miss the way Tim hasn’t taken his eyes off her. He’s watching her like she’s a suspect he’s raring to question, his eyes lit with laughter. “I wouldn’t put in for a job change just yet. Tim’s definitely the best looking, sorry Nic.”

Her heart is still racing as the conversation continues. She untangles her hand from Tim’s to check her phone when it buzzes on the table. She thanks whoever it is for the much needed emotional break. 

It’s John. He’s sent a picture of Henry and Abigail, both covered in more paint than appears to be on John’s walls. _Gotta love free labor,_ it reads. _Also, Abigail is dying to know how your weekend with Tim is going, she wanted me to say._

She smiles. She would have had a good time if John had come, she knows. He’s a sweet guy, but looking back she knows there wasn’t a future there. She types out a quick message and then shows the phone to Tim. 

_Tell her she was right - he’s all bark._ He rolls his eyes at her and drapes his arm across the back of her seat. She sets her phone on the table and takes another sip of her beer. 

“Sooo, are you ready?” She asks, grinning at the soon to be newlyweds. 

“The million dollar question,” Michael says, smiling at Anna. 

“You just have to make it to the aisle, and then it’s just like taking a walk toward your favorite person,” Tim says, taking a swig of his beer. 

Anna glances at her quickly before turning her attention to Tim. 

“Have you been married?”

He nods. Lucy watches his face. It’s so rare he talks about Isabel and she’s never heard him talk about their marriage, beyond her addiction, and definitely never their wedding. 

She notices he’s bouncing his leg against the rung of his barstool. His nervous tell, she realizes. She moves her hand off the table and settles it on his knee. It’s intimate, it’s comfort. 

He glances at her as he continues. 

_A more open, intense version of yourself,_ she reminds herself. 

“I was. It feels like a long time ago, now,” he says. Lucy feels his bare arm brush her back and then his thumb is running along the back of her neck under the veil of her hair. “I’ll spare you the details though, because you’re young and in love.” 

“You are too,” Michael says, “It’s pretty obvious.”

“Definitely not young,” he says, and Lucy doesn’t miss the way every single person at the table is looking at Tim. 

Tim’s thumb rubs small circles into the crook of her neck, and she relaxes. Maybe it’s the nature of their jobs, maybe it’s just Tim, but he can always, always tell when she’s tense. 

“Just, enjoy your day. You spend all this time planning and spend more money on food than you ever will again in your life, but at the end of the day, it’s just about the two of you. It’s about what you mean to each other right now, at this moment, and that’s how it should always be. Even when you aggravate each other or think you’ve lost hope,” he says. It’s advice for the bride and groom, but he’s staring right at Lucy. 

She gulps and she’s painfully aware that everyone is watching him look at her. 

“I think that’s probably the best advice we’ve gotten all night,” Michael says. “That’s what I want to take with me into tomorrow, so I think that’s my cue to head upstairs. _Alone,_ Annie,” he reminds Anna. 

Anna pouts for half a second before grinning. “This means it’s time for shots, ladies.” God, Lucy has missed her. 

Beside her, Tim nods, a decision made. “Yeah, that sounds like my cue to go and catch the last inning of the Dodgers game and let you all catch up in peace.” 

His hand is still on her neck though, and it’s been the best free massage she’s gotten in years. She’s not moving until he makes her. 

He turns to her, and she recognizes the questioning look in his eyes. She sees it everyday in the shop when he’s waiting for her to answer a question or ace one of his tests. But this time, it doesn’t have a challenging edge. 

She nods. She could use a little time to collect herself, honestly. 

“Okay,” he says, standing and pocketing his phone. He leans into her, his body warm. His lips find her ear and she has to keep her body calm enough that she can comprehend what he’s saying. It’s so quiet she knows no one else can hear. 

“I pay on dates, so if I leave you with my money clip, can I trust you not to lose it? Two weeks straight of drunk tank duty sounds like a reasonable punishment.” 

She swallows and nods. His breath, warm and ghosting against her ear feels like punishment enough right now, especially with his hand tangling gently through her hair. 

“Good,” he whispers. His hand tugs gently at her hair and he finally, _mercifully_ presses his lips to her skin. 

Her entire face feels like it’s on fire and she knows she’s blushing. It’s dumb, it’s just a kiss on the cheek. But it’s literally every single thing that’s ever occurred between them— every disagreement, every laugh, every time she wanted to literally Taze him—, everything he’d just said, _and_ a kiss on the cheek. 

Across from them, Anna and Michael are saying goodbye, and Lucy watches them wistfully for a moment while Tim quickly downs the last of his beer. 

“Ladies, have a good night,” he says, finally removing his hand from the back of her neck.

He nods toward the exit to Michael. “Gotta drag yourself to bed, Casanova, so you can actually marry the girl tomorrow,” he jokes, and god, Lucy’s suddenly overcome by how much she wants him. It’s not even entirely sexual, although she knows that’s been simmering, ready to erupt for months. She just wants to be near him. Even when he’s being sweet — _especially_ when he’s being sweet — he’s sexy. 

She shakes it off and hops off her stool as he gives her a look. 

“I’m going to go get our first round,” she says, and the girls cheer. 

Michael and Tim walk with her to the point where they have to turn either to the exit or to the bar. Tim pauses, and for a second, even though his hand is on her waist, he’s Officer Bradford. 

“You sure you're good? Feel safe?” He asks quietly. 

She wants to tell him no, that she feels a little out of control, like she’s spinning out every time he touches her. But she knows that’s not what he’s asking. 

She nods. “I’m good, Tim. Thanks.”

“Sure, babe.” It’s loud enough that Michael, standing a couple feet away, could hear, but she isn’t entirely sure if he’s meant to. 

He lets his hand fall from her waist and gets a few steps away before turning around. 

“Lucy.” When she looks over, he holds up his phone so she can see it. She grins and nods. 

It’s his way of telling her he’s a phone call away. He can and will be wherever she needs him in a matter of moments if necessary. It’s the same thing he does on tense calls when they have to separate in dangerous situations. He’ll gesture to his radio so she remembers — he’s there, she’s not alone. 

She can still feel his lips on her skin as she watches the bartender pour their shots a couple minutes later.

_She’s probably screwed._

—————————— 

He’s _definitely_ screwed. 

He should have kept his mouth shut and he definitely shouldn’t have started touching her, because now he’s afraid it’s all he’ll ever think about. 

He should have said no to the whole weekend, but he was basically a goner from the word go. And then she’d said she needed him and he can’t think of a scenario in which he’d tell her no. 

Michael has to stop by the check-in desk to grab the key to the room he’ll sleep in tonight, and Tim tags along. There’s a line a few people deep and while they’re waiting, he looks the guy over. He can’t turn the cop in him off, and because of it, he’s constantly sizing up people. It keeps him at arm's length sometimes, he knows, but it’s just a part of who he is. 

“Hey,” he says. “Man, I’m sorry if I bummed you out back there, bringing up my marriage. I’m just trying this thing where I’m “in my feelings” as Lucy would say, and part of that is being open with the people around me.”

Michael shakes his head. “I get it. And it’s not like you have a bad ending. You just got a restart,” he says. “My life wasn’t working without Annie, and in—“ he checks his watch — “about 20 hours, we get to restart together.”

Tim exhales. That sounds about right. Michael doesn’t know a thing about Isabel, or about what he’s doing here with Lucy. But it sounds really good, like hope. 

“Sorry, I’m marrying a former psych major. Shit like that just falls out of my mouth sometimes.”

“Just means you listen to her well, and that’ll never be a bad thing.” 

Michael nods. “Hey, uh. Annie told me a little bit about what Lucy went through in December and I can’t believe it. I didn’t want to bring it up to her, of course. But, I’m sorry, man. I can’t imagine what I’d do if Annie was in that situation.”

Tim smiles slightly in thanks. “I won’t speak for her experience, but it’s been a long road and she’s made a lot of progress. She has a lot of people looking out for her and she’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“But, I mean, you’d maim anyone who looked at her wrong now, right?”

Tim laughs. “That’s the nice way to put it,” he says. “But trust me, I’d have to beat her to it. She doesn’t quit.” 

They chat about the Dodgers the rest of the wait, and it’s only when Michael’s about to get off the elevator at his floor that Tim stops him. 

“Hey, I don’t know you, you may already have something planned. But take it from someone who didn’t and would do it differently if given that restart — tomorrow, write her a note. Just something cute, something romantic, whatever. It’s one of those rare gifts that’s an action and words. It’s worth it,” he says. It feels like a lot to throw at a basic stranger, but Tim’s trying to share hard-won perspective when he can, in the hopes it’ll come back to him when he needs it someday. 

Michael smiles. “Thanks, Tim. Lucy’s lucky, if she’s that restart,” he says. “Come by 332 tomorrow if you want. Me and my guys are just going to be watching the game, waiting for people to tell us what to do while the girls get ready,” he laughs. 

Tim nods. “Thanks, man. Enjoy your last unmarried night.”

The doors close and Tim rides up to his floor in blissful silence. 

He changes into sweats and brushes his teeth in front of the last few minutes of the Dodgers game, and it’s exactly what he would do at home. 

Except he wouldn’t be waiting for Lucy to come and crawl into bed with him. He shouldn’t be waiting, anticipating, _wanting_ now, but he can’t stop thinking about the velvety skin on the back of her neck and how easily he can make her shiver, break out in goosebumps without even really trying. 

It’s intoxicating and addicting and if he’d stayed home this weekend, he wouldn’t know how badly he wanted it. He knows he’d still be thinking about it though. 

His phone lights up on the nightstand next to him, and he reaches for it to find a text from Lucy. 

_I’ll pay you back,_ it reads. Briefly he wonders how many shots they’ve had and how much money is missing from his money clip, but he knows she’s okay. 

_You will not,_ he responds. If he can’t give her a time machine, if he can’t magically make the last four months go away, he can do this. He can buy her some drinks to enjoy with some friends in a safe space. 

_I’m sure we can think of some way,_ pops up soon after, and he smirks at his phone. 

She’s clearly having a good time. 

_You ARE aggravatingly resourceful,_ he replies, and he doesn’t know if he wants to encourage this if she’s not sober. Sparing and bantering with her has gotten him through countless shifts, but they’re usually pretty careful to keep it away from anything that could be considered legitimately flirting. It’s been way more difficult for him lately, though. 

_You really have no idea,_ she sends, and he smiles. She has no idea how badly he wants to find out. 

_I‘m sure I don’t._

_Smugass Smokeshow was meant as a compliment btw._  
Don’t fail me.  
Btw means by the way, also. 

They all come back to back, and he laughs. 

_I took it as one,_ he replies. 

_All the girls agree, even if they don’t know you’re the actual smokeshow. It was the first thing we talked about. Approval acquired._

_*fake approval acquired._ She follows it up so quickly that his phone doesn’t even vibrate a second time. 

_Well they have eyes, don’t they?_

_Smugass._ He rolls his eyes. It’s gonna be a thing. 

_Still calling it a compliment,_ he sends. When a reply doesn’t immediately come, he puts his phone down on his chest and turns the TV back up for something to focus on other than the constant Lucy loop. It’s too good, but it’s like having no cover in a shootout. He has no fallout plan, no safety net. It’s been like that long enough now he should be used to it, but. 

He dozes off thinking about her and startles awake to a voice unmistakably hers. 

“Crap, crap.” He can hear her just outside the door, her shadow at the base a give away. She must have dropped the keycard.

He finally hears the automatic click of the lock and props himself up against the pillows to watch her come in the door. 

“Did I wake you up?” She asks, laying her purse on the table. 

He shakes his head, clearing his throat. 

“Smugass _liar,”_ she chides, sitting on the edge of the bed at his feet to remove her shoes. He wants to touch her immediately, but he stays where he is. 

Her voice is slightly higher, happier than he’s heard it recently. He smiles sleepily at her and she grins back. 

“Oh, you’re trouble,” she says, and he laughs, because he’s only thought that about her about a million times. 

“Good trouble,” he corrects, watching her remove her earrings. The long line of her neck is exposed as she works at the other ear, and he has to look away. It’s so innocent, but his lips want to trail the same path his fingers did earlier. 

“Definitely,” she agrees, standing up to put her stuff away. She rummages in her bag and turns back to him with clothes in hand. “I’m gonna shower real quick so I don’t have to wake up ungodly early,“ she says, gesturing to the bathroom. 

He nods. “Should I worry you’ll drown?”

“I only had two shots, _Officer Bradford,”_ she says, looking back over her shoulder at him as she walks to the bathroom. 

Interesting how she can make a name she says daily sound so flirty. 

He hears the water turn on and focuses on the TV, eager for distraction from thoughts of her soapy and wet in the shower. 

He’s surprised she’s so relaxed and flirty after just a beer and two shots, but he’ll take her happier however he can get it. 

He zones out to a black and white movie until he hears her open the bathroom door. Her hair is wrapped in a towel and she’s in boxers and an LAPD shirt that’s oversized and cropped just at her waist. 

It’s going to drive him out of his mind. 

She sits on the bed next to him and stretches. Her shirt rises higher and he lets himself look for just a moment at the ink on her skin. He remembers telling her it made her a survivor. He remembers pulling her hand away so she didn’t scratch it to bleeding in the hospital, how she’d said it wasn’t worth the itch. 

She catches him looking, but doesn’t cover it. It feels like trust. 

“I haven’t decided what to do, yet,” she explains, as though she owes it to anyone. 

“You don’t have to. There aren’t timetables for things like this.”

“I know. You were the first one — the only one — to tell me it could be a symbol of what I still was able to have, and not only a reminder of pain and fear.” It’s quiet, but her voice trembles slightly. 

He touches her bare knee, just a glancing whisper of fingers against her skin. “I still think that.”

She meets his eyes. “I might too,” she whispers. It feels like more than three little words. 

She yawns and he draws his hand back from her knee. 

“Tired?”

She nods a little, but doesn’t move. 

“Too tired to move?” 

She smiles. “No. I’m tired but just… _tired_ , not actually fall asleep tired, y’know?”

“Too well,” he says, sitting up. “C’mon.” He stands and gestures for her to do the same. He pulls the covers back and fluffs the pillows and it’s so domestic it makes him ache for a life he doesn’t even know anymore. 

“Get in.” It’s his TO voice, even he recognizes it. 

“Hang on,” she says, always ready with a comeback. She hops up and goes into the bathroom, and when she returns, her hair is down and the ends are leaving water spots on her neck and shirt. It’s so casually sexy he can’t handle it. 

She climbs in and fixes her pillows and he can feel her eyes on him as he settles in too. 

“Tim.”

He doesn’t have to look at her to know what she’s about to say. It’s all he’s thought about since she walked in the door. 

“Is this too much?” Her voice is quiet and he wants to touch her. There’s no one to see and attribute it to boyfriendly affection. There’s no one to see at all. 

He doesn’t know if she’s talking about this weekend, the bed they’re in, every glance they’ve traded for the last four months. It all feels like a lot. 

“It could be,” he whispers, and he doesn’t know if he means it could be _and he wants it to be,_ or it could be _and it scares him._

There’s a foot-plus of room between them in the big bed, but he knows if he makes the first move to touch her, it’ll be over for him. This wouldn’t be the same as the last time they shared a bed. It wouldn’t be simply an act of comfort for her. It would be pure desire, learning her body and not just watching the way it moves from afar when she’s working out or handling a suspect. 

She nods. There’s really not much to say. This feels like tempting fate, being this close to her. Knowing that if she touched his face, she’d see it in his eyes, or if she touched his wrist, she’d feel it in his pulse. 

“We probably would have stayed in the bar longer, but Anna decided she just had to go try and convince Michael to let her in his room,” she says, and he smiles. 

“I don’t think she’ll have a hard time convincing him,” he says, and they both chuckle, but it’s loaded. It hits a little too close. 

He watches her laugh and turn her head on the pillow to face him, and _god._ It’s been too long since he’s laughed with someone like this, just relaxing in bed. He and Rachel had fun while they were together, and he feels bad discounting that, but in the couple months they’ve been apart, he’s missed the idea of someone more than he’s missed her. 

Here, next to Lucy, it feels like he’s coming back to a piece of himself he didn’t know he needed again. 

“Michael calls her ‘Annie’,” he says, and she nods. 

“If anyone else tried it, she’d punch them.”

“It’s sweet,” he says, and her face softens a little as he says it. “Isabel hated nicknames, but if I was really, really good, I could get away with Iz,” he adds. 

“Really, really good?” She laughs. 

He raises his eyebrows at her and she laughs again. “It didn’t happen often,” he says, and it’s quiet again. 

“Has this wedding stuff made you miss her?” He inhales. They haven’t talked about her directly since that night in the gym. 

“I always miss her,” he admits, but he shakes his head at her surprised look. “Not in a romantic way, anymore. And not the Isabel you met, really, but the one who walked down the aisle toward me.”

“Your favorite person.” She smiles, but it’s tinged in sadness. 

“She was.” He watches her for a moment. He feels like he wants to memorize her. 

“You leave a little piece of yourself with everyone you love, y’know?” He says, quietly. 

He thinks about the porch light he kept on constantly for a year after she left, how it pooled light in the window of the bedroom that was now just his and kept him awake and served as a constant reminder that he was waiting. For what, or who, he hadn’t known. 

He went home and turned the light off the night Lucy confronted him at Isabel’s apartment. 

He thinks he’ll tell her that one day, maybe, and it’ll mean something. 

“I didn’t realize you were such a romantic until today,” she says, and the way she’s looking at him will stick with him awhile.

“I don’t know about that,” he scoffs. 

“I do. ‘Corporate money makers’, my ass,” she says, smiling. “Smugass sweetheart.”

He turns so his body is fully facing her. 

“It’s different when you’re looking right at it. When you’re watching two friends fall in love with each other like it’s their first time.” 

He smiles at her, and he thinks maybe it’s the most open he’s ever been with her. She’s watching him like she’s waiting for more. 

“Look,” he says, needing to take a break from whatever moment they were building to. “I don’t like that of the two possible descriptors, you choose to leave out ‘smokeshow.’ You’re gonna wound my pride.”

_”Riiight, definitely gonna lose sleep worrying about your man pride,”_ she says, laughing.

“Ouch,” he jokes. 

Her hand reaches out across the mattress and he swallows, waiting for her touch. 

Her fingers trail down his arm and she smiles at him. It’s sleepy, but killer as always. 

“Don’t worry. I just worry what would happen to your ego if you heard the term too often. You’d be even more insufferable.” 

“Excuse me?” he says. 

She shushes him, and he raises his eyebrows at her. 

“Smokeshow is a constant, Tim,” she whispers, sleepily. She drags her nails slowly down his arm and circles her thumb against the pulse point in his wrist, and he can’t help but shudder. “Just look at you, how could it not be?” 

She yawns again and her thumb stills on his arm. He moves slightly so he can take her hand and interlace their fingers, and she blinks heavily at him. 

“Go to sleep, Lucy,” he says, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as she closes her eyes. 

He adjusts his pillow and watches her fall asleep. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

—————————— 

She wakes to the sound of a car alarm out the window. It’s light out when she glances behind her, and when she turns back, Tim is awake and watching her. 

“It went off a few minutes ago too, woke me up, but you slept through it,” he says, quietly. 

“Were you watching me sleep?” 

He doesn’t immediately answer. It’s Tim for _yes._

She’d fallen asleep holding his hand and woken up with him and it isn’t the morning after the worst day of her life anymore. It feels like what she’s been waiting for. 

It feels like permission. 

She leans up on her elbow and scoots her body across the mattress until they’re face to face. 

“Lucy,” he starts, but she presses her fingers to his mouth quickly. 

“Shhh,” she commands, and for once, _thank god_ , he doesn’t argue. 

She can feel him watching her every move. It should make her nervous, but instead she feels bold. 

She presses a kiss to his cheek, right where he’d set her skin aflame last night. 

To his chin, and a whisper of stubble makes her shiver. 

To the side of his mouth, and he smiles shakily. She can feel his exhale as she kisses it away. 

Her hands find his neck and she rakes her nails down the warm skin. He shivers and steadies himself with a hand on her hip. 

She kisses him again, biting at his bottom lip, and his fingers dig into her hip and push slightly so she ends up on her back. 

He pulls back and watches her face for a moment. “Is this okay?”

She knows he’s not talking about what they’re doing, because neither of them can answer that. He’s asking about her comfort level with a man, even one she trusts with her life, looming over her. 

She smiles and draws him in and kisses him, lets him get a hand in her hair and then uses her training and her body weight to leverage herself over him, rolling their bodies and pinning his back to the bed. 

“Jeez, Luce. I would have just moved,” he says, shifting his hips slightly and grinning when she bites her lip. 

“I know,” she says, leaning down and nipping at his ear. “But god, that was so much more fun.”

“We’ll work on your technique next time,” he warns, skimming his hands down to her hips. “You definitely took the element of surprise into play, which isn’t always gonna—“

“Tim,” she says, pulling back and staring at him. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He tangles a hand in her hair to pull her down to him again.

“You’re so damn sexy,” he says, his voice quiet against her mouth, and her heart races as he kisses her once. 

Her phone buzzes on the nightstand next to them, but she ignores it. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers, ghosting his lips across her cheek to her ear lobe. 

“Strong,” he murmurs, biting down gently on the sensitive skin. 

She whimpers. She has to even the playing field, or he’s going to wreck her, and it’s way too soon for that. 

Her phone buzzes again, and something buzzes in the back of her mind, but she ignores it in favor of manhandling him so she can drag her lips along his strong jawline. She kisses just below his ear and feels his hand skim over her hips to her ass. 

His fingers dig in and he pulls her down against him and _oh,_ she’s in trouble. She scrapes her teeth down his throat and rolls her hips against him once, twice. 

Her phone buzzes again as he runs a hand up her back, under her shirt and around. His thumb brushes slightly over her nipple, and her phone is still buzzing, and _oh, shit._

“Oh, shit,” she says aloud, and he groans. 

“I know,” he says, and it’s the sexiest he’s ever sounded. 

“No, No, I mean, _shit,_ ” she says, and he removes his hand from under her shirt immediately and returns his eyes to her face. 

“No?” 

“No! I mean, yes, god, _absolutely yes_ to this,” she says, pressing her body against his again and kissing him hard, once, twice, before pulling back and sitting up on her knees to grab her phone. 

She cringes. Two texts and a missed call from Anna. 

He tugs on a wave of hair and raises his eyebrows in question. 

“I forgot to set my alarm. My hair appointment’s in five minutes,” she says, running her thumb over his bottom lip. 

He groans for an entirely different reason now. She’s still sitting in his lap. She can feel the tension radiating off his body. 

He tugs her hair again and leans up to nuzzle her neck. “You can be a few minutes late, I bet.”

She gasps as his mouth finds her skin. “You’ve never been late a day in your life,” she says, and it takes every single ounce of will power she possesses to sit up and pull away from him. 

“I’m afraid you could convince me,” he says, and ugh, it’s sweet. 

“I’m sorry. If I miss my appointment that’ll put them behind on everyone else and pictures and well, you get it. Plus, this?” She gestures between them. “This would make me a lot more than a few minutes late.” 

“Damn right it would,” he says, and god, she could kiss that cocky grin off his face. 

She stands up and runs to the bathroom to brush her teeth and toss her hair up in a messy bun. She shimmies out of her pajama bottoms and into jeans and then realizes she won’t be able to tug a tshirt safely over her head once her hair is done. She silently curses herself and then glances toward the closet, where Tim’s button down is hanging from last night. 

“Hey, can I wear this?” She asks, pointing, leaning around the corner to where he’s now sitting up in bed. 

“Sure?” he says, and she smiles her thanks. She tosses her pajama top off and pulls the shirt on, slowly buttoning it as she walks back into the room. 

“Come on, that’s just rude,” he says, and she laughs. “You’re supposed to _undo_ the buttons. I still clearly have so much to teach you.”

She smiles at him as she pockets her phone and grabs her purse, dress, and shoes. She runs back over to him after she slips into her shoes and presses a kiss against his cheek. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry,” she says quickly, not giving him a chance to pull her in and distract her again. 

She’s dialing the phone on the way out the door, stopping briefly to watch his eyes follow her movement. She waves, Anna picks up, and she’s out the door. 

—————————— 

She’s a whirlwind of motion, a too-quick kiss, and then the door shuts and he’s alone. 

He runs a hand over his face. Not a single part of him was prepared for the morning to start this way, but he won’t complain. 

He wants to follow her and find out where her head is at, figure out where his is, see if they mesh. But he knows now isn’t the time. 

He scrubs a hand through his hair and gets up to figure out if the hotel has a gym. He needs to work out, get out some energy. It’s definitely not how he'd prefer to do it right this second, but his preferred workout partner is otherwise occupied. 

—————

The gym isn’t great, but he can do push-ups and wall-sits anywhere, so it does the job. He manages to get some excess energy out and clear his head a little, but he still can’t distract himself from Lucy. It’s been months of the same, he shouldn’t be surprised. 

Except now, he knows exactly all he’d be missing without her, and it feels even more high stakes.

He grabs a bite to eat before heading back up to the room. He’s just gotten out of the shower when his phone buzzes. 

He wraps a towel around his waist and swipes to open a message from Lucy. 

_Sorry this is probably a boring day for you,_ it says. 

He smiles and responds quickly. _Definitely started out pretty good. Worked out, had some food, just got out of the shower._

He pulls on some clothes while he waits for her response. 

_Only pretty good? 😉_

He shakes his head. She’s always, always got to push back. It’s so aggravating, but it’s one of his favorite things about her. 

_Anna’s gonna give you hell for making me late, btw._

_Pretty sure you initiated anything that made you late, I was just a more than willing accomplice._

He puts his shoes on and decides to go take Michael up on his offer to hang out. He pockets his phone and opens the door to find Lucy about to insert her keycard. 

She stops short when the door opens, but she looks a little disappointed to see him. 

“Oh, I was kind of hoping you’d still be in a towel,” she says, plucking at the fabric of his shirt. “But thank god you aren’t, I’m only so immune, and I literally only have a second.”

He moves so she can walk in the room and she heads immediately for the table where she left her jewelry. 

“Everything okay?”

She grabs her ring — the one that had sat on his bedside table for two weeks, waiting to be reunited with her — and smiles. 

“Yeah. Anna forgot her ‘something borrowed,’ and I thought this might be a little piece of hope to tie to her bouquet.”

Tim glances down to hide his smile for a moment. Something so closely tied to such a trauma for her now feeling like a tangible piece of hope just reminds him again why she’s so special. 

“You’re really something,” he says, and she grins. 

“Back at ya,” she says. “Where were you headed?”

He nods toward the door and she walks with him. “Michael invited me down last night to hang out with the groomsmen,” he says, opening the door for her. 

“Aww, hanging out with the guys. Good job.”

He gives her a questioning look, but then remembers. The Tim who’s Lucy’s fake boyfriend would absolutely want to get to know her friend’s future husband. Tim as himself, might not. 

_A more open, intense version of himself,_ he remembers telling her. 

There are a few people waiting when they reach the elevators, and Tim takes the opportunity to really look at her hair. 

“Fancy,” he whispers, tugging gently on one of the loose curls. 

“Don’t get too used to it,” she laughs. “Way too much effort went into this.”

He lets his chest press against her back and leans down so only she can hear him. 

“You’re just as gorgeous when it’s up at work, don’t think any different.”

She reaches back and laces their fingers together as the doors open and people move onto the elevator. She pulls him with her and he goes easily. 

He looks at their hands, tangled together in an elevator full of people who don’t know them. It doesn’t feel like any kind of show. 

The elevator dings their arrival to the fourth floor where Lucy is going, and she looks down at their hands too. She squeezes his hand and gives him a smile as she walks out. 

He’s greeted by Michael and a couple groomsmen when he gets to the room. 

“Hey, just in time,” Michael greets him. “Matt, Ben, this is Tim, he’s with Lucy,” he tells them. 

“Lucky man,” Ben says, shaking his hand. Tim eyes him and puts a little more force into the handshake than he normally might. 

“Everyday,” he says. He thinks about Lucy telling him she wasn’t ready to be hit on by strange men. Even if nothing else came of this weekend, he’s glad he’s able to help with that. 

The Kings game is on TV and Tim grabs a seat on the couch. 

“Just in time for what?” He asks. Matt tosses him a beer and he nods his thanks as he takes a pull. 

“On the card, for Annie. Sweet or funny?”

“She keep stuff?” Off Michael’s confused look, he continues. “Ticket stubs, birthday cards, sentimental stuff?”

Michael nods. 

“Then either way she’ll read it for years to come. Do what you think she’d like best. If it was me, though? I’d cover all my bases, one of each.”

“Smart man,” Michael says, sitting down in front of a couple note cards. 

Tim sees a hotel notepad on the bedside table and tears off a sheet, ripping it in thirds. “Got an extra pen?” 

Michael tosses him one and Tim jots down a few notes. One, he folds and tucks in his money clip for safe keeping. The other two, he sticks in his pocket. 

They zone out to the game for awhile before Michael pushes back from the table. 

“Feel like making a delivery?” He asks, holding up a couple envelopes. 

—————————— 

The knock on the hotel room door comes just as Lucy’s zipping up her dress. The makeup artist put the finishing touches on her lipstick just a couple minutes ago, and in just a few minutes they’ll help Anna into her dress. 

Nicole answers the door and even before Lucy hears his voice, she knows it’s Tim. Call it a side effect of spending 12 hours a day knowing exactly where he is in relation to her — for safety, for comfort, as a test; call it a magnetic pull ever since he’d found her ring, shining in the sun, and probably even before that. 

She’s pretty sure it’s chemistry, though. 

“Lucy, your hot cop is here,” Nicole says, turning to her. 

“I prefer ‘handsome officer,’ hot cop kind of makes me seem like a male stripper,” Tim jokes. 

“I don’t see any problem with that,” Nicole says, and everyone laughs. 

Lucy turns toward him, laughing, but the look he’s giving her shuts her up. His eyes travel down her body slowly and she almost rolls her eyes at him, but then she remembers he hasn’t seen her dress before now. 

As far as bridesmaids dresses go, it could be worse. It’s long and strapless, a pretty mauve color. Definitely not anything she’d choose to wear again, as is the standard “oh my god, you can shorten it and wear it again!” promise from every bride she’s ever known. 

Seeing the look on Tim’s face though, she’s pretty sure he could convince her. 

“Okay, lovebirds. I have to be down that aisle in 30 minutes. Let’s get a move on,” Anna says, and Tim snaps out of it. 

“This is for you,” he says, handing Anna a couple envelopes. 

“Is it going to make me cry? We _just_ finished my makeup,” she says, but the look on her face tells Lucy she’s willing to risk it. 

Tim raises his eyebrows at her and glances over his shoulder to the door. It’s subtle, but she’s seen it a thousand times on shift. 

He heads out the door and she smiles at Anna, holding up a finger. “Right back, one minute, promise.”

Tim’s learning back against the wall with his hands in his front pockets as she closes the door. She thinks back to that night in the gym, how he’d smiled, hands deep in his pockets, asking her to ride with him, and how she’d felt like parts of her were being stitched back together. How seeing him every time since has helped her feel just a little more complete. 

He holds something out to her as she gets close, and she fixes him with a quizzical smile. 

He nods at her to open it. 

She unfolds the paper and swallows. 

_You look beautiful in your dress_ it says. 

She smiles at him. “You hadn’t even seen me in my dress.”

“All the evidence pointed to a likely conclusion,” he says. “Keep reading.”

_and in your uniform..._ it finishes. 

She smiles, blushing. She runs a finger across the jagged edge of the paper. “It’s torn, is there supposed to be more?”

He gives her that look that means he’s vaguely impressed. “An “A” for investigative work, Officer Chen. Play your cards right and maybe I’ll show you later.”

“Smugass _flirt,_ ” she jokes. “I don’t know if beautiful is the right word for the wool pants though.”

He leans forward, hands still in his pockets, and presses his lips to her ear. 

“I’m sorry, do you prefer ‘hot cop’?” 

She laughs as his lips drag lower, over her pulse point. She brings a hand up to hold his head there, and feels him chuckle against her skin. 

“Good?” He murmurs, the sound vibrating against her neck. She shivers. 

“Adequate,” she teases. 

His lips coast further, down her neck and to her shoulder, and she’s just about to say screw it and drag him back upstairs to their room when he pulls back. 

“Who’s rude now?” She asks, leaning back into him. 

“Trust me, you, in that dress? You could make it almost worth an indecent exposure citation right in this hallway. But I worry the wrath of the bride might be worse than anything the LAPD could throw at me,” he says, letting his eyes roam her body while his fingers brush over the smooth fabric at her waist. 

She presses her palms against his chest and laughs, smiling up at him. “I’m choosing to ignore the ‘almost’ there.” 

As if on cue, the door across from them opens and Nicole sticks her head out.

“Yeah, Anna,” she calls “Somehow they're being more gross than I imagined, they’re just _smiling at each other_.” She motions for Lucy to come on and she steps away slowly. 

“Gonna watch me walk down the aisle? I’ll be the one in the dress,” she winks, waving and walking back through the door. 

—————

Lucy’s never imagined her own wedding. 

Maybe it’s weird. She’s almost 30. She’s been in plenty of weddings, helped pick out dresses and flowers and cakes. 

But in the space where her wedding plans could be, it’s always just been fuzzy, like a sign that’s just slightly too far out to read, or a suspect’s story that just doesn’t quite add up. 

Something happens though, as she starts down the aisle after Nicole. She finds Tim in the crowd immediately, his eyes already focused on her, just like she knew they would be. 

Another stitch falls into place, the sign comes into focus, the story starts to add up. 

_It’s like taking a walk toward your favorite person._

Tim winks at her as she makes it to the end of the aisle and everyone rises for Anna. As everyone turns for the bride, he keeps his eyes on her. 

—————

The ceremony is beautiful and Lucy might have teared up a time or two, but that’s neither here nor there. She’s a crier, even if she wishes she weren’t. 

She tries to focus on the vows, but she’s distracted by the sensation that she knows means Tim is watching her. She catches his eye a couple times, and it’s entirely too much emotion for her to handle in front of a crowd. 

Anna and Michael kiss and everyone cheers and the bridal party is ushered away for post-ceremony pictures before she has a chance to see him again. 

He’s standing on the edge of the dance floor, two flutes of champagne in hand, the next time she finds him. 

“If you’re already double fisting, you need to be on the dance floor. It’s basically a law,” she greets him, already holding her hand out for one of the flutes. 

“Thanks,” she smiles, raising the glass to him. 

“Cheers,” he says, watching her take a sip. “I think you’re supposed to wait for someone to make a toast, though.”

“Oh, well,” she glances around. “To handsome officers.”

“And to hot cops,” he says. 

She scrunches up her face. “Yeah, no. I don’t like it, now _I_ feel like a stripper.”

“You can go with that feeling,” he says, raising his glass. 

“Play your cards right,” she says, and he grins, like he’s planning on it. 

The DJ comes over the speakers then to announce Michael and Anna’s first dance, and Tim pulls her gently off to the side. The speakers hum with the first notes of the song as the couple takes the floor. 

“Oh,” Tim says, pointing up toward the speakers. “BTS?”

She flashes back to him at her bedside, giving her a new first laugh. She looks at him now and can’t believe she didn’t know right at that moment. Maybe she did. 

“No, Tim. This isn’t BTS. I’ll be sure to alert you should they unexpectedly play any. I know you’d hate to miss it.”

He smiles, the pain in the ass. 

“I haven’t told you how good you look in your suit,” she says, pulling on the black lapel of his suit jacket. It’s impeccably fitted and the crisp white button down underneath is open at the collar. He looks relaxed and sexy. 

“Everybody should own one good black suit that’s ready for any event,” he says, like he’s reciting it from a manual for cocky, brooding, gorgeous men. 

“If they look like you in them, absolutely.”

“No; no one can be that lucky,” he says, easily grabbing her hand as she tries to swat his chest in exasperation. 

He runs his fingers down her palm and laces their fingers together as the first notes of a new song start. 

_”Oh,”_ she gasps quietly as the song fades in and Joni Mitchell’s voice fills the room. “Great song.” She takes a sip of her champagne and doesn’t miss how he watches the movement of her throat. 

He takes the glass from her and sets them both on a nearby table. “We’ll get new ones later,” he promises. “C’mere.”

She lets him lead her onto the dance floor, wrap his arms around her waist, and pull her close. 

She smiles up at him. “My mom used to play this on her old record player from high school and make my dad dance with her around the living room when I was little. Except it never worked right, so you’d just hear the first half of the song over and over, and it always made my dad so annoyed. But looking back, I think he secretly loved it.”

Tim smiles and runs a hand across her back. “That’s a nice memory.”

She burrows further against him and brushes her lips over the skin exposed at his open collar. “This is too.”

She turns her head so she can look around the room as they dance. The room is beautifully decorated, the colors perfect for early spring. Large windows let in the last bits of sunset and caterers bustle around with food. She tries to imagine a day in the future where she’ll want something so lavish. 

“What was your wedding like?” She asks, hoping she doesn’t ruin the moment. The song has long since moved on to another, but she isn’t ready to let go. 

He sighs, like her question surprises him. “Smaller than this, but still bigger than I wanted. I probably made the experience harder than it had to be. She got to the altar without my ring, somehow. Someone went and got it, but all I remember her telling me was that it didn’t mean anything, like she was afraid I thought she’d change her mind.”

“I’m sure it didn’t mean anything,” she says, running her hand up the back of his neck. 

“No, maybe not then. But hindsight has a way of making you think that if you’d been able to change just one thing, everything else would change around it.” 

She nods. She’s too familiar with that feeling. She waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t. 

“I thought, for awhile, after… that being drugged was something I _let_ happen to me, instead of something that _happened_ to me. I knew, psychologically, that was wrong. But. If I’d just seen him slip something in my drink, or this, or that. The list goes on. If A hadn’t happened, then B, C, D wouldn’t have happened.”

He presses a kiss to her temple. “This is one of those letters, too,” he says, and she pulls back slightly to look at him. 

“Would we be here, like this, right now, if everything hadn’t happened?” He asks. 

She shakes her head. “I don’t think I can answer that.”

“It’s not a Tim Test, Lucy,” he laughs. “I don’t expect you to know the answer. No one could. That’s the point. Sometimes things happen and things change and other things happen as a result, but neither directly causes the other. They just exist in the same universe, like pinpoints that make up a map of where you’ve been.” 

She thinks about everything that’s happened between them in the last four months. 

Panicking in the back of an ambulance. Waking up with his arm around her waist. Crying into his chest when she’d thought she was out of tears and clinging to him on her bedroom floor the night he’d brought her home from the hospital. A too-soon attempt at exposure therapy that left her shaking and scrambling for her phone to reach him. 

Climbing into the shop next to him their first day back together and having no idea what to say, because things already felt different. All those quiet walks out to the parking garage, long after she knew he would normally be home. 

The way he’d called her beautiful, and strong, and sexy not even twelve hours ago. How things had already changed since then. How they’ve been dancing this whole time and she has no clue what song is even playing. 

She’s about to tell him she thinks she gets it, maybe it all can make sense, when Anna and Michael walk up to them and she pulls away from him. 

“Hey, smitten kittens, sorry to interrupt,” Anna says. “We’re going to cut the cake soon, but I just wanted to make sure you got this back before things get hectic.”

She takes Lucy’s hand and presses the ring into her palm. 

“This meant a lot,” she says, and god, Lucy knows that feeling. 

“Yeah, to me, too,” she assures her, reaching out to wrap her in a hug. She doesn’t know if she’s talking about this weekend or the ring or both, but she knows it all felt like a lot. 

“And Tim, you softie,” she says, turning to him. “I hear that you’re responsible for those notes that I’m definitely going to cry about when I don’t have $200 worth of makeup on my face. Thank you.”

Lucy raises her eyebrows at him. This is news to her. _Smugass softie,_ she mouths. 

“I didn’t write them,” he says, shaking his head. “That was all this guy.” 

Michael smiles and pulls Anna closer. 

“I just shared some advice I wish I’d gotten — some I’m trying to use myself going forward,” he finishes, looking at Lucy. 

“Well, either way. It worked, and I think it’ll work for you,” she says, smiling at them. 

Lucy wonders if there was ever a doubt in Anna’s mind that they aren’t actually a couple. She wonders if it even matters now. 

“Okay, we’re going to go make the rounds. Still want to do brunch next month? Double date?” She doesn’t give Lucy time to respond. “Resume your cuddles,” she says, laughing. 

They walk away and she turns back to Tim. 

“You _do not_ have to go to brunch,” she says quickly. 

“I can do brunch,” he says casually, like it’s not a month away, like he won’t have other plans, like it’d be an actual date. 

“I… okay,” she says, biting her lip and glancing away. He still surprises her every day. When she looks back, he’s watching her. 

“You reminded me of something. Here,” he says, reaching for the ring in her hand. “For safekeeping,” he tells her, slipping it in his jacket pocket. In its place, he pulls out another slip of paper and hands it to her. 

_Wanna makeout?_

“I told you I wasn’t going to ask you to make out with me on the dance floor,” she reminds him. 

“Did _you_ write that note?” He asks, raising his eyebrows at her. 

She shakes her head, watching the way his eyes take her in. 

“So?” He asks, cockily, already leaning toward her. 

And the thing is, she wants to, more than anything. She’s only human and he’s _gorgeous_ and… everything else he is to her. 

She wants to finish what they started this morning. 

And she knows they’ll have to have like fifty discussions about what this weekend means. And where they’re going. And how they navigate their work relationship. And if they have any other kind of relationship. 

But all of that feels like a lot, like maybe too much for a weekend that’s already changed so quickly. 

She feels like they’ve got time. 

And she knows he’ll be patient, and kind, and caring, and other words that sound too much like vows for her to handle right now. 

But he’s looking at her like he always does — like he knows her too well, like she aggravates him, like maybe she’s his favorite person. 

_A more open, intense version of yourself,_ she thinks. 

“That sounds like a really fun place to start,” she tells him, leaning up on her tiptoes and pulling him to her with a hand on his neck. 

She kisses him slow and steady, like it’s just about the two of them and what they mean to each other at this moment and that’s how it should always be. 

He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her in, and another stitch falls into place.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read both works in this universe now, you might notice a few things referenced near the end of this that did not appear in canon or in either fic. That does mean there's (eventually) more coming for this universe. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


End file.
